They had been over that before; Aliam had fallen at his feet, begging forgiveness, when he first arrived. Kieri shook his head. “It is not your fault. I told you, Estil’s told you—if your king and your wife can’t convince you, who can?”
Aliam smiled, but the smile touched only his lips; his eyes were still sad. “If you will quit thinking you aren’t worthy of this, Kieri, it will ease my mind considerably.”
“At least you aren’t calling me Sir King every moment,” Kieri said. “The day you quit calling me Kieri—at least in private—I’ll really worry.”
“We must go soon,” Aliam said. “I can’t leave the Company to themselves for too long …”
“Are you going south this year?” Kieri asked.
“Not me,” Aliam said. “I might send Cal in my stead, but he’s taken over much of the work at home. We have potential contracts—but I’m getting old to go back and forth over the mountains.”
“You are not old,” Estil said, punching him lightly. “You are fat and not taking enough exercise, that is all.”
“We can take care of that,” Kieri said, grinning. “At least while you’re here. You should see the royal salle—in fact, come with me now—”
Kaelith, one of the King’s Squires, stood duty at the door to the suite, and led the way to the royal salle, but on the way they were interrupted by Sier Halveric.
“My pardon, Sir King, but I thought you would wish to know—now that the stables are no longer full of guests’ horses, the royal mounts have been brought in, including those gifts given at your coronation. Master of Horse would like your word on which to keep at hand.”
“We should go today,” Aliam said. “I’m sure we’re taking up stalls you’ll need.”
“Not to worry, Aliam,” his brother said. “I moved your mounts to my own yard.”
“Stay, Aliam,” Kieri said. “You’ve always had a good eye for horseflesh; you can help me choose.”
The royal mews rang with the sound of hooves and whinnies; Sier Halveric introduced the Master of Horse, Sir Ganeth, a lean man Kieri could just remember bowing over his hand during earlier ceremonies. He wore the ruby of a Knight of Falk on his collar.
“Sir King, I know you have heard comments about the color of our horses—and as you are half-elven, it is important for you to understand that the two have different preferences in color. Do you yourself?”
“I was taught to value conformation and performance over color,” Kieri said.
“Quite right, quite right. And yet here we must also consider color. The elves, Sir King, prefer horses of water and air, what you probably call grays and blue roans, like your mount Banner. Men prefer horses of earth and fire, what you probably call bays and chestnuts and red roans. In recent years, the royal stables ran heavily to earth and fire, by the will of the Council—” Here he glanced sharply at Sier Halveric, who shrugged.
“With only humans attending Council regularly, they would naturally lean towards those colors. Everyone knows grays are temperamental … perhaps you have to be an elf to understand them …”
“The first horse I ever owned was a gray,” Kieri said. “A Marrakai-bred, and one of the best I ever rode. Banner is of the same breeding.”
“Sir King, you are half-elven. Perhaps it was that—”
“Perhaps. But let’s look at these—” Kieri waved at the stalls. It was not the moment to point out that the Royal Guard of Tsaia chose grays for their ceremonial mounts because they looked good with the Tsaian royal colors.
“We have an indoor school,” the man said. “If you would prefer, there is a royal box …”
“Indoor school?” Kieri had never heard of such a thing.
“The elves built it,” Sier Halveric said, with just the faintest edge to his voice. “Their horses are … flighty … or so our stable personnel insist.”
“I’ll just walk along the stalls first,” Kieri said, hoping to stop that in its tracks. “Come on, Aliam, Estil, let us see some horses.”
The Master of Horse moved up just off his right shoulder. “Sir King, this first row begins with the horse you rode from Tsaia—”
“Banner, yes.” The horse put its head out. Kieri rubbed its face, glancing in to note the clean, well-laid straw, the wrapped legs, the horse’s shining, satiny coat. Whatever the stable help thought of grays, they had treated Banner well. “You like it here, Banner, eh?” The horse tucked its nose and he chuckled.
“The rest of this row are what we consider traveling mounts worthy of nobility: horses you might ride about the kingdom as you visit the steadings. The former king had not ridden for years, and his favorites had, in the meantime, aged to the point where I questioned their endurance for long travel. I chose to retire them, and seek younger animals, but if you wish to see them, I will take you to their pasturage.”
Kieri wondered what to make of that. He had always chosen his own horses, after that first one, often buying Marrakai-bred, as with Banner. He wondered how someone else’s choices would suit him. “How many horses would you think I need for such travels?” he asked.
“I’m not sure,” Ganeth said. “I was not Master of Horse to the king before the former king; I do not know how such decisions were made.”
Kieri had to admit he had not seen such a collection of near-perfect horseflesh anywhere, not even in the royal stables in Vérella. Under the covered arcade, a row of bay and chestnut heads looked out over stall doors. Two, three, five … ten? He stopped counting. Who needed so many horses? Kieri walked along slowly, letting each sniff his hand, and casting a practiced eye over their conformation.
“You’ll want to see them in action,” Ganeth said.
“Indeed yes. And then try them out.”
Ganeth smiled widely for the first time.
“But where are the grays?”
The smile disappeared. “They’re in this row … through here …”
Backing on the first, this row of stalls held grays and two blue roans, all looking out of their stalls like the bays and chestnuts … but these wore headstalls and were all tied to a ring just outside the stalls. “Why?” Kieri asked.
“The grooms feel safer,” Ganeth said.
“The horses don’t,” Kieri said, looking at the row of fretful heads tossing this way and that, jerking the halter ropes. “Easy,” he said, approaching the first. The horse pinned its ears.
“He nips,” Ganeth murmured.
“He won’t nip Kieri,” Estil said.
Kieri appreciated the sentiment, but he wasn’t sure. “Easy,” he said again, with the same tone he’d used on horses and injured soldiers for years. He reached for the tie; the horse reached for his arm. Kieri bared his teeth and grunted; the horse in the stall wrinkled its nostrils tightly and pointed its muzzle away from him while he untied the line from the ring, and reached up to unfasten the halter. The instant it felt the halter loosen, the horse whipped around and kicked the stall door. The other grays jerked at their ties.
“You see how it is, sire,” Ganeth said. “They must be tied, for the grooms’ safety.”
“How long have they stood tied like this?” Kieri asked. “Today, I mean?” He did his best to keep his voice level. The horse in the stall had its nose in a water bucket, the swallows running up the underside of its gullet visibly.
“Since the stalls were mucked—they were all taken to water at dawn bell, and walked in the row while their stalls were cleaned and relaid.”
Kieri glanced in. The gray pinned one ear and lifted a hind hoof. “Oh, settle down,” Kieri said; the ear swung forward and the gray went on drinking. The stall was bedded just like the others; the horse bore no lumps or marks of misuse, other than being tied for hours in one position. To the others he said, “I’m going to untie them; their movement won’t be true in the school if they’ve been standing tied that long.”
Ganeth bowed, and excused himself to have the horses saddled for presentation in the school. Soon the sixteen bays and chestnuts, plus Banner, lined up in the school for Kieri’s inspection. Every one showed the sound, useful conformation needed for a travel mount; all were up to his weight. They had a different look than the Marrakai-bred horses he’d ridden most, the head a little longer. He remembered that from his time at Falk’s Hall. “These are all excellent,” he said to the horsemaster. “Where did you find them?”